


Eight Months After

by WizardSuperbia



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), DC Extended Universe, DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics), Superboy (Comics), Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Depression, M/M, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recovery, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 18:11:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17492765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardSuperbia/pseuds/WizardSuperbia
Summary: Tim had been missing, missing for far too long. And now that he's home again, he refuses to speak of the horror he has endured while at the mercy of Ra's al Ghul. Kon, the ever loving and supportive boyfriend, struggles to watch as Tim falls apart before his eyes.





	Eight Months After

“I must be tiring.”

            “Tim.”

            “No, no, I must be. I mean-look at me. Listen to me! I’m-I’m a mess. I’m a mess and I’m exhausting! Want to hear a problem? I got ten. I got fucking ten every five goddamn seconds.” His hands shook violently as he paced back and forth in front of the bed. Kon watched on with a defeated frown. He hated when Tim lost control like this. Admittedly, Tim had always been a little twitchy, but ever since he had been recovered from Ra’s al Ghul-something had changed, like he had lost his ability to hold onto his sanity. He fell over the edge faster-easier-and it tore Kon to pieces each time. No one knew what had happened to Tim during his time within Ra’s clutches, and Tim never dared speak a word of it. They had only Bruce’s watchful, angered gaze to speculate from whenever Tim twitched away from a too loosely held knife or woke from a panic inducing nightmare.

He was broken. Broken and thin. So thin. Kon could recall Tim’s former figure: lean, but with a healthy set of muscle from his years as the Boy Wonder. But now, during brief moments and glances of Tim with his shirt removed, Kon could count the individual bones within the columns of his spine and see the way his third, right rib bent slightly downward from hasty setting in time of panic. Kon remembered how he use to tease Tim for his thin figure. He was, after all, the thinnest of his grown family. He remembered the frustrated sigh Tim gave with each tease, his half-assed explanations on how it was “just genetics working against him,” or how he “didn’t abuse protein powder” like Jason. If Kon would have known back then how small and frail Tim would one day become, he would have never made a single, teasing remark. He would have treasured each of Tim’s lean muscles and taken the time to study the girth of each one in a series of loving, ever tightening hugs. If he would have known then what now would be like, Kon would never have let him out of his sight. He would have told him he loved him sooner. He would have held him longer and kissed him deeper, and make sure he knew daily that he was loved and appreciated.

But he didn’t know. No one knew. And Kon had been too damn scared of his own feelings to make Tim his own-too slow to protect him. The Tim he loved was fading daily and right before his eyes-and there was nothing he could do but be patient, wait out the storm and hold Tim during his battles against his new found demons.

“Tim.”

“What?” His pacing stopped suddenly, his blue eyes brimming with tears and wild with his pressing anxieties. Kon wished it was the first time he had seen his boyfriend shake so violently.

“Come here.”

“I can’t!”

“Come. Here.” Kon’s voice was patient, his eyes sad. When Tim didn’t move, he stood from his side of the bed and crossed the few, empty feet between him and his love. Gingerly, he took both of Tim’s thinned hands into his large ones, closing them in tight, comforting warmth. He raised the hands one at a time and gave the trembling knuckles a soft kiss in turn. “Breathe with me, Tim. Ready? In. And out. In. And out. Just like that.” Tim’s beautiful eyes had spilled over with tears. “You’re here with us. You’re safe. You’re not a bother. You’ve never been a bother or a pain-even if Jason says otherwise. He loves you. Bruce loves you. Alfred loves you. Dick loves you. _I_ love you. Even Damian.” Tim hiccupped and Kon ran his thumbs along the tops of his thin knuckles in a petting motion. “I promise.”

“Prom-prom-?” Tim’s voice faded into a crackling squeak, then flattened into nothing as he vibrated in silent sobbing.

Kon held him tightly, patiently. The storm had laid out its worst, and now was the time to ride out the damages.

 

* * *

 

Tim’s cry had lasted the usual duration of time, Kon patiently beside him and offering his support and comfort until the thin male drifted into a restless slumber in his arms. Gingerly, Kon laid his boyfriend to the mattress and covered his frame with the large quilt bunched at the foot of the bed. He then swept his hand lovingly through the raven colored hair, and placed a kiss to the pale forehead before ducking out of the room for some air and a chance to clear his head.

The manor hadn’t been as full as it was now for quite some time. Even Jason had returned to his old bedroom to offer his shoulder in, as Alfred had put it, “this time of much needed love and support.” Yet, Kon had never heard such a deafening amount of silence within the manor’s walls. Someone somewhere usually had a TV tuned to the news, or was riffling through the fridge, or even turning the pages to an ancient tome passed down generation to generation by the Wayne family ancestors-but not now. Kon couldn’t pick up anything more than saddened heart beats and small shuffling of positions while the Wayne family worried for their brother-their son-their Tim.

“Hungry, Master Kon?” Alfred asked as the Super passed through the kitchen door, his hands busy with the jar of a white spread, “I thought that perhaps it was time to present sandwiches to the home.”

“Thanks, Alfred.”

“Quite, Sir.”

A silence hung in the air as Kon popped open the fridge, claiming a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap and took a swig, attempting to forget the world for a moment. Attempting to forget the pain in his chest and the throb of broken hearts in the rooms scattered throughout the manor.

Useless.

He closed the door with a defeated sigh. He wanted to scream, or cry-whichever would come first. He was angry. Angry at Ra’s for what he had done. Angry at himself for being unable to stop him. Angry he couldn’t piece Tim back together. Angry he could only hold his hand and stand by while he worked through his pain.

Kon clenched his fist and reared his arm back, longing for a release of his ungodly anger. He let out a cry, but as he lashed his fist out forward, the comforting hand of the butler caught Kon’s elbow and softly guided the tensed fist into a relaxed position. “Master Kon,” Alfred insisted, “this would solve nothing.”

“I’ll kill him!”

“Nothing.”

 Nothing.

Kon clenched his teeth, his muscles tensing again; but falling limp in defeat under the sympathetic gaze of the butler. He was right, it would solve nothing. Being angry wouldn’t fix Tim. It wouldn’t get him to talk, and it wouldn’t end al Ghul’s terror. He would go on, living and breathing with that wicked smirk; believing that he had won-that he had bested the Wayne family.

“I can’t take it, Alfred.” Kon pressed his palm to the fridge, his gaze falling to the floor, “He’s dissolving into nothing and I can’t do shit about it but watch. He lost more weight, I swear. He’s trying to hide it, but he’s so thin, Alfred. He’s so thin. I could hold him between my fingers if I wanted!” Kon’s voice strained as he leaned against the cool surface of the fridge, palm and fingers spread now under his forehead. “I’m terrified I’ll roll over one morning and find him dead under my weight.”

“He will recover in due time, Master Kon.” Alfred’s voice was soft and sympathetic, his hand holding firm to the younger male’s shoulder.

“But what if he doesn’t? What if this shit over him wins? What if he just-gives up?”

“One must have faith, Master Kon.”

“Faith!” Kon’s gaze lifted and settled with shock on the elder man’s tear streaked face. Never before had Kon seen Alfred cry. He hadn’t even heard of it in any of Tim’s stories about the old and friendly butler. Somehow, Kon had talked himself into believing that the man, so strong and loyal, had been rendered unable to shed the smallest of tear. Yet, standing before him was a man so overcome with woe and sorrow a child-his child-that he had let all of his defenses fall. And Kon understood. Pushing off from the fridge, Kon wrapped his arms firmly around Alfred and Alfred did the same in turn. “Faith is all we have, young sir. It’s all we have.”

* * *

 

“Come on, Tim. Alfred said you need a bath.”

“A bath?” Tim’s hand tensed within Kon’s, “N-No. I don’t-I don’t want to.”

“You need to wash your hair.”

“No.”

Kon frowned to Tim’s pale face. Since his return, Tim had been oddly squeamish around bodies of water, regardless of size. Bruce had made many speculations as to why, but with Tim refusing to speak of his time away, nothing could be confirmed nor denied. Yet, within his notes, Bruce had jotted down that “Tim becomes preservative when faced with bodies of water capable of covering his ankles. He takes special care to ensure his clothing is intact and kept close to his body. He prefers to not be touched, but may need persuading to walk away. I fear a level of water born torture was ensued.”

Tim’s hand received a patient squeeze. “How about a shower? Think you can manage that?”

Reluctantly, Tim agreed. But only if Kon remained in the bathroom with him as guard. With the conditions understood, Kon closed and locked the bathroom door behind them. “I’ll sit here,” he explained as he closed the lid to the toilet and settled onto the cushioned seat cover, “and fight off any badies that dare to enter.” The ghost of the old Tim crossed pale lips as he smiled to the tease. Somewhere deep down Tim knew he was being ridiculous. Somewhere, he knew that he had nothing to fear in stepping into a shower for ten minutes. Somewhere. But far from his reach. Regardless, Kon sat at his post with a soft smile while Tim adjusted the temperature of the water. Once the steady sound of water hitting the acrylic of the tub’s lining, Kon felt a small sense of ease wash over him. A shower would do Tim good.

Right?

Right.

“Kon?”

His gaze shifted to Tim. Color had flushed from his face, standing with one arm cradled by the hand of the other. “Could you-look away?”

“Look away?” Kon’s eyes squinted in confusion. In their short time together, Tim and Kon hadn’t proven to be the most sexually active of couples-they _were_ superheroes after all. There simply just wasn’t time for such things between the long hours of patrol, but by no means had the two never seen one another naked. They’ve experimented before, and, with time allowing, they had been overcome with such feeling of passion and lust that they’d wake the following morning tangled together within sweaty bed sheets. And, if Kon recalled correctly, the two had at least changed in front of one another in their early years of friendship. Why now, after so long together, would Tim suddenly be so shy?

Kon complied, but not without his concerns. He kept his eyes covered and his body turned away until he would hear the shower door slide close and the water’s fall be disrupted by Tim’s movement.

Kon turned back, fingers drumming anxiously while he attempted to solve the riddle in play. Did Tim not trust him anymore? Did he not love him like he use to? Was Tim scared of him? His stomach clenched and hardened with his anxiety; his hands balling within the legs of his jeans.

The silence was agonizing, dizzying. Kon tried to keep his composure, to keep from being sick, to push the thought of losing Tim’s trust and love out of his mind-but it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. He was over thinking, had to be. Distraction. He needed a distraction. Bart. Bart could distract him, right?

Kon fumbled while he fished his phone from his pocket, his grip so loose and panicked that the device slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor. The sudden sound startling Tim. “Just dropped my phone, love,” Kon reassured with fake confidence as he leaned over to dig the phone out of the mess of Tim’s clothing on the floor- _most_ of Tim’s clothing.

It was a strange thing to notice, and Kon almost felt ashamed for noticing it, but among the small clothing pile of his shirt and pajama pants, there was no underwear. The hamper across the way was closed and Kon couldn’t recall the sound of Tim closing the lid to it-nonetheless tossing clothing inside before stepping into the shower. Could he be _wearing_ his underwear? There was nowhere else for them to be. They weren’t on the floor, weren’t on the hamper, nowhere. Overcome with curiosity, Kon allowed himself to glance through the semi-transparent haze of the shower door.

There, unmistakably, Tim stood with his head bowed under the stream of water; blue, striped boxers soaked against his pale frame.

And Kon understood.

* * *

 

He touched him.

 _He_ touched him.

He _touched_ him.

He touched _him_.

_He touched him._

His hand stroked slowly through Tim’s drying hair as he slept upon his chest. It had grown so long in the past months. Kon was almost shocked to find that he hadn’t noticed until now. He hadn’t noticed a lot of things until now. The rhythm of Tim’s breathing. The small scar on his cheek. The way his eyebrow twitched when he slept. The perfect shape of his cupid’s bow-every detail Kon had once overlooked or had taken the time to appreciate-he loved. He memorized the placement of each feature, the way his finger felt when tracing them, the small sounds of his sleep. He loved them. He loved them and hoped to whatever high power that was truly out there that it wasn’t too late for him to be the first to love, caress, kiss, and treasure each detail. He couldn’t be. The thought of anyone else touching him-the thought of _Ra’s al Ghul_ -touching him filled Kon with anger. Anger, anxiety, and guilt.

He should have tried harder. He should have honed in his hearing more-taken caution to move slower through the cities. He knew Tim’s heart beat. Kon could pick it out from a crowd in an instant-how could he have not heard him? How could he have let the beat fade into the background?

Tears brimmed Kon’s eyes, blurring the features of Tim’s face. He was asleep, sound asleep, it would be fine if Kon let his emotions take hold just this once.

Just this once.

Tim’s hair was soft between Kon’s fingers. His movements were slow, careful. He didn’t want to wake Tim. Not when he was finally sleeping peacefully. Dreamlessly.

Kon’s chest was heavy with his muffling of cries, tears streaming sloppily from his eyes along his cheeks. He tried. He truly tried, yet he simply could not keep quiet nor still enough to prevent Tim from waking. Within minutes, Tim’s marble colored eyes settled worriedly on the tear streaked face and his thin fingers stretched out to caress the flushed cheek. “Kon?” His voice was tired, but alarmed. Kon never cried--well, not never, but it was a rare sight at the least. “What’s the matter?” Innocently. As if Tim didn’t know.

Tim was right. He had been right all along. He had become a bother, a problem. And here was Kon, tired of it at last. Tim’s heart raced within his chest, his legs shifting from underneath him so he rose lightly above the male’s frame to look down upon his face, twisted and distorted with the cries he tried to suppress.

This was it. This was the end. Kon would leave him, and Tim didn’t blame him. He had become such a problem since returning to the manor. Everyone strained to be happy, to be normal. They tried to go on, pretending nothing happened when Tim was near, thinking that when Tim’s gaze shifted he wouldn’t see the looks--the pity, the hurt. Did they really think he didn’t see how pale they had become? How tired they all were? This was Tim’s problem. _Tim’s_. Yet, here they all were, suffering-perhaps more than him. Wrecked with guilt that was not theirs to have.

Tim’s fingers trembled against Kon’s wet cheek. “I’m so sorry, Kon.”

“He-” Kon’s words swallowed themselves; the river of emotion taking over now as he heard Tim’s soft, apologetic voice. “Tim, did he-?”

“Did he what?” Tim’s heart sank. He tried to play innocent, pretending not to know what Kon dreaded-what his dad dreaded, his family.

Kon reached out through his tears, taking the hand from his cheek to hold firmly in his own. Blue eyes locked onto blue, desperation showing clearly within each pair. Kon pulled himself from the comfort of the pillows, matching the strained sitting position Tim had taken on the bed. Their fingers intertwined. “Did he-did he-use you?”  

Tim’s silence was all that answered.

“Tim.” Kon’s voice was a haunting whisper, “Tim, I’m so sorry.”

“Stop,” Tim whispered, his gaze darting away.

The room was spinning. Kon’s breath was short. The thought of Tim, _his Tim_ , being taken advantage of--abused. It made him sick. His hand pawed weakly within Tim’s. “I should have-”

“You couldn’t do anything.”

“I could have-”

“Kon.”

The pieces were falling into place. Tim’s mannerisms. The way he protected himself around everyone. Kon understood now. He understood it all--and it wounded him. His heart throbbed and his mind raced. Anger built, but was swallowed almost as fast as it was formed by Kon’s overwhelming grief. It wasn’t until the sound of Tim’s own hiccup that Kon would ground himself enough to pull the small male into his arms. They embraced; each holding the other as their minds and hearts gave way.

* * *

 

The truth came slow at first; starting with small talks of darkened rooms and bleak hallways. Gradually, Tim progressed to speaking of lone dinners with Ra’s al Ghul; the topics forced to discuss, and the punishments for not obliging. Tim had gone many days without food for making a rude comment or pushing away his captors’ advances for an heir. He had been weighed down by restraints and injected with high doses of sedatives. He had been neglected: rendered into his weakest and most vulnerable state--forced to comply, to play along or face the responsibility of a loved one’s demise.

When talk turned to that of the tub, the decision was made to commit Tim to a privately owned Psychological Ward. Proper aid was beyond the family’s capabilities, even Kon’s. “Professional help is what Master Timothy needs,” Alfred had implored, and the family reluctantly agreed.

Tim spent the majority of December within the walls of the ward, meeting with several psychologists who had been entrusted with the secret identity of Red Robin as well as a select few of the heroes of Gotham. His recovery was slow and far from over as he was released, but it was agreed upon that he would fare best in his own bed surrounded by those who loved him most.

His first night home was spent wrapped warmly within Kon’s arms, gazing out the back window of the manor into the snowy landscape below: beautiful, silent, and calm.

Tim adjusted slowly in Kon’s arms, fingers tracing blue veins along the visible muscle. He received a loving kiss to the temple in return. “You look happy,” Kon hummed.

“I’m warm.”

Kon gave a smile.

Tim would never be as he once was, but Kon would patiently be by his side; ready to offer his shoulder and hand in time of distress. No, things weren’t perfect. Maybe they’d never be perfect.  It would be rough going, but, for now, life was beginning to move in a steady and right direction.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a short, and very rushed project I worked on over a long holiday weekend. I'm considering going back and expanding the story to pan out over a few chapters and really taking my time to work in better details and concepts. Please let me know how you feel! And thank you for reading!


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